


A Boost Over Heaven's Gate

by RegentOfTheAuxArcs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Decisions, Canto Bight, Don't Try This At Home, Fear of Heights, Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Gender Anarchy, High Heels, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I have ideas there, Issues, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Tattoos, This was supposed to just be smut what happened, Trans Male Character, how did it end up like this, this was so hard to write, we all deserve to look amazing, who the actual fuck is DJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 18:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14431329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegentOfTheAuxArcs/pseuds/RegentOfTheAuxArcs
Summary: Being stood up sucks. Being stood up when you've dropped a ton of cash for this vacation sucks more. The only logical thing to do is get wasted and make bad decisions with really questionable men that may or may not have some history with the Rebellion/Empire/Resistance/First Order--it all runs together after a while.





	A Boost Over Heaven's Gate

**Author's Note:**

> We deserve more trans and gender-nope stuff in this fandom. I mean, we all know I throw canon out the window--and we've all got ideas as to who the sketchy slicer is. This is mine. I don't know what happened here, there should have just been porn, but somehow...like, THIS happened.
> 
> I can't tell you how happy I was to see not just disability-affirming shit up in here, but holy hell, someone else has a speech impediment. I've run his closer to what mine is like. And there's a bunch of nods in here. More than I realized. My smut is rusty, I hope it's not shit.

I stood looking out at the city lights, leaning on the balcony rail. For half a second, I wondered what it would feel like to just jump. I figured it was the booze. I’d kind of had a lot of it.  
“Feel the c-call of t-the void?”  
“Hmm?”  
“T-t-the pull to do something st-tupid, just for a hot second. It passes.”  
I didn’t even turn. He stepped up behind me and rested his hands on my hips. He’d removed the godawful rings and secretly I was thankful. You know, if he cleaned up, he’d be a damn handsome man. Not that it wasn’t under there—it was. But I wasn’t quite sold. I mean, I was more confident about it than I was when I’d met him at the casino’s bar. 

I was a boy in a show-stopping black-to-red ombre floor-length gown that I’d found at a secondhand store off-world. I’d been saving for this vacation for ages, more than ready to finally meet the man I’d initially contacted on SheevsList and spent the past absurd amount of cycles talking to, but the man I’d come all this way to meet never showed. So I spent the night getting wasted on expensive champagne and sucking on ryll-laced cigarettes like they were going out of style. It dulled the pain of rejection and sanded down the edges of my inhibitions enough to make me feel like doing something I swore up and down I’d never do: find a one-nighter. Before I could talk myself out of it, he found me first.

He slid into the seat next to me and I had to look twice. Definitely rocking the underdressed and unimpressed aesthetic—big coat, keppie hanging weird off his head, looking like he’d had as long a night as I’d had. And goddammit, under all that dirt, I swear I saw something shiny. He flagged the barkeep down.  
“Rough night?” I said.  
“Pssht. You h-have n-no idea.”  
“I might,” I crumpled up the napkin under my drink and tucked it into the flute.  
He looked me up and down shamelessly, then snorted.  
“Not interested. I t-think the fellows at the sabacc table m-might be more your sp-peed.”  
“I’m not that kind of guy,” I said, realizing the mistake and just…wow. Top off a shitty night with being mistaken for a prostitute.  
“I got stood up, thanks very much. And after that, I can’t believe I was thinking…”  
He raised his hand. It was covered in those absolutely hideous gold rings.  
“My mis-s-take. That h-happens a lot in here. Allow me.”  
The barkeep came over.  
“Port In A Storm, three f-fingers,” he said. “And Rose’ for this lovely creature.”  
Until then, I was convinced I was and always would be swamp trash in pretty wrapping. I don’t know what it was about this guy that made me want to stay, but something did.  
“D-don’t judge,” he said, and raised his glass. I mimicked the gesture and was surprised that this shit tasted like expensive perfume you could drink. I had no idea what it was, but I wasn’t about to admit that.

I don’t remember much what we talked about. It never occurred to me to ask his name. I do remember he paid in pristine gold credit chips and I had to wonder where those came from, but I was careful to not wonder too hard. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to back to his room—I was a smaller-framed guy in a strange place and I didn’t know this dude. But him coming back to mine? I needed to get on with it before common sense got the better of me.

It was the weirdest thing. He took my arm when we left like a damn gentleman.  
“I’m no prize,” I laughed.  
“Nah. I’ve g-g-got g-good taste most of the time.”  
That crooked smile was infectious.  
I half-thought he planned to get lewd in the elevator, but thankfully, he stayed where he was and it was a good thing, I was not exactly stable on these heels at that point. Floor forty-two, room number sixty-four. King-size smoking with an en suite bathroom and giant whirlpool tub rather than an efficiency refresher, my own balcony.

By then, the ryll had kicked in fully and I was more relaxed than I ever remembered being in forever. I turned the lights down low and turned on the bath tap. I poured one of the vials of sweet-smelling oil into the running stream, momentarily forgetting I’d brought a strange man up here with me. No matter—I still wanted hot water and to enjoy the fine things I’d paid so much for. He planted himself on the foot of the bed, shucking off his big coat right onto the floor. I was relaxed, sure, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I was losing my nerve. He was busy removing his broken-in boots when I threw open the doors to the balcony and stepped out to it.

Canto Bight’s skyline this time of night reminded me of bright stones studding rich black velvet. The carnival atmosphere could be heard even up here. Somewhere, there were races and crowds cheering. Music was coming from a nearby floor and it was the easiest sound to pick up out of the night. Somewhere downstairs, I could here giggling and deeper laughter, probably the same room playing the very modern waltz that I could almost feel the music notes plinking on my skin. There was a nice breeze and when I looked down, I did wonder what it would feel like to fall.

I guess it was the call of the void that got me into this in the first place, but I didn’t want to turn away from it, not really.

Wide hands holding my hips, pulling me back from the railing and against him.

I thought he’d be kind of grimy and sticky from the look of him, but his shirt was soft and clean and I was so glad my gown left so much skin exposed. My ass didn’t connect with his heavy belt, and I couldn’t help but think that without the mismatched attire and gold he was goddamn handsome.  
“I hate it here,” he sighed. The liquor was still powerful on him but not unpleasant.  
“I think it’s beautiful.”  
“D-dd-don’t get me wrong, it’s lucrative, but this p-p-place is as fake as it gets. You ain’t seen much, h-have you?”  
I shook my head, mesmerized for a second with the backlights of a cruise ship jetting up into the atmosphere. He chuckled.  
“We have more in c-c-common than you think.”  
He raked his hands up my sides and pulled me around to face him. I almost lost my balance and the weird pulling fear of falling overtook me. It was weird—that same feeling radiated from the same place arousal came from and I never noticed it until now. Everything felt much more intense and I wasn’t sure if I could do this without plunging into sensory overload. I noticed steam issuing from the tub back in the room and it was a perfect temporary out.  
“I need to turn off the tap,” I said. He stood aside and took my place at the rail.

It was far too hot to think about getting in, but that could have just been my skin burning from the substance soup.  
Still, it gave me a second to breathe and think and figure out what the fuck I was even doing. I didn’t know how these things were supposed to go. I half-expected it to be like in the holodramas, when we got in the room clothes get torn, lamps knocked over, and it’s all fast and hot and stupid, but this was not that. I looked back to the balcony. He stood looking over the rail at the city, shoulders and head bobbing to the music I could still hear under us. I decided it was best to just be honest. He hadn’t laughed at me so far.

I joined him. We were quiet for a minute, me watching the pretty lights, pupils probably blown the size of the smaller moon up there. I couldn’t understand it—he should have been pawing at me by now. Did I misunderstand the arrangement or something? I looked over at his face, really looked for the first time all night, and tried to find answers.  
He just looked tired.  
Unfocused eyes scanning the horizon, head bobbing softly to whatever the other suite had on. Rushing blood in my ears was too loud to properly hear it right now. He shaved, but not in a good day or two. He wasn’t frowning, not quite pouting, but his mouth was just a line. He’d seen some shit in his day. He had a couple of scars on his face and I wondered where they came from, but again, I didn’t want to wonder too hard. I was kind of afraid of the answer.  
He spoke first.  
“You d-d-don’t really want this.”  
It was almost a question.  
“I thought I did,” I said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d had a shit night. I blew almost an entire standard year of savings on this trip, half a check on this gown and that wasn’t even what it was really worth.”  
“S-s-somebody out there for you?”  
“I guess not. It was stupid of me to think…”  
“Think what?”  
“I’m nobody. I will always be nobody. I tried to be somebody here and I failed.”  
“Babe,” he sighed. “Being somebody is chains. Expectations. S-st-stupid shit, rules, laws, black and white, do and don’t.”  
I got distracted by fireworks going off at one of the distant resorts, but I still heard him. I hated it when people called me that, but it didn’t sound coddling coming from him.  
“Being nobody is freeing. You should try it. Really t-t-try it. Embrace it. This place is shiny garbage, but there ain’t no place better t-to-to be nobody for a while.”  
He came up behind me again, resting his chin on my shoulder, breath hot against my neck. I could feel my own pulse pounding.  
“Break your chains.”

I turned and kissed him full on the mouth, sloppy on my part, clipping the side and surely smearing lipstick all over his face, but fuck it. I didn’t want to put on airs anymore, I wanted to do what I came here to do—fucking live. I felt him smile.

He pushed the single shoulder of my gown down and it only made it to my elbow. I’d never really given any thought to how I’d get this glorious thing off, especially not after this many drinks and feeling my own skin cells bouncing against each other at the same damn time. He broke for a minute and yeah, it was a bold red smear straight down his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and laughed.  
“You know what you remind me of in that?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I heard stories. I saw things b-b-back in the day. There used to be this planet of witches,” he said. Most of it came off, but it was high-pigment and it’d take more than wiping to get rid of it completely.  
I turned and backed into the rail for support. Again, that pulling feeling came over me, but I was ready for it this time.  
“It’s b-b-been long gone. P-persons on it extinct. I knew one once.”  
He looked at his wrist and the slut-red stripe across it. I saw something pass over his face but I was too far gone to try interpreting it. He just wasn’t there for a minute.  
I reached for that hand and it was so much bigger than mine. Rough. I was perfectly manicured and lotioned and the tattoos on my hands never looked better, they could have jumped to life off my skin, my little home planet surrounded by its moons and each finger had its own little ship cruising around. I liked to feel like I held at least part of the galaxy in my hand. I had them all over me, but he hadn’t gotten that far yet.  
I pulled him close and fumbled awkwardly, trying to figure out how to get into his clothes and against skin. I settled for slinking up one sleeve and finding the hard line of his collarbone. Stars and fucking moons, under that dowdy shit he was built just fine.

“You sure you want to d-d-do this out here?”  
“I mean,” I looked over my shoulder at the lights. There’s no way anyone could really see what we were doing, was there?  
“We’re so high,” I finished lamely.  
He snorted. “Yes, gorgeous, you are.”  
He ran his thumb across my top lip, then the bottom, letting it rest there a bit. I bit it gently and then it occurred to me he was trying to clean me up.  
“Let’s give old d-d-downstairs some competition,” he said, giving me another one of those damn sideways smiles. I ran both my hands up the front of his shirt, ungracefully pulling it up with them.  
He looked much better without it.

And to my surprise, he had some ink of his own.  
A weird, slightly warped version of what had to be an old-school Rebellion sigil, but it was an orange-to-purple watercolour fade. I bent to get a closer look at his ribs, I saw something there, and kind of wished I hadn’t: a vertical row of what looked like helmets and tick marks next to each of them. I didn’t want to look like I was freaked out, and I was conflicted on it for like half a second, but I ran my hands right up them, curious if they scarred. I didn’t have time to touch the other side—it looked like he had almost an entire side covered in perfectly saturated black ink and it probably wrapped around his back. He shivered and pulled me back standing.  
“Old.”  
“It’s okay.”  
“N-n-not really.”  
“Sorry.”  
“Let’s just s-s-ay there’s shit we both want to forget tonight and leave it at-t-t that.”  
I nodded and closed with him again. I leaned a little too far back and scrambled to hold onto him for support.  
“This won’t work,” he said, trying again to push down the one sleeve. Cool air blew the sheer fabric around my ankles and I kind of thought it looked like I was on fire.  
“Unzip me.”  
I turned and didn’t let go of the rail. Surely he’d done this before. I hadn’t exactly planned on it, more thinking I’d do this myself and look like a smoldering young god shucking it off myself with dramatic flair. But this was better.  
I maintained my iron grip on the rail as he tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling at it a little, then down my spine to the middle of my back where the supposedly-invisible zipper hid. One hand inched it down, the other followed my spine as more and more skin became exposed. I couldn’t stop shivering the whole time. When he reached the end, I turned back around and let it fall and pool on the balcony floor around my heels.

I never felt so exposed and so uninhibited than right there, right then.  
If his hands were half as thorough as his gaze, the return was definitely worth the risk.

Usually, I’d have been insecure about the scars of my own. I tried to cover them with ink, a more detailed spacescape of the core worlds and the endless black hole at the center of it all, but you could still see that my chest shape wasn’t quite right and wasn’t quite natural. But I don’t think he even saw those details. He didn’t question my scars, didn’t question the distinct lack of bulge in my simple compression underwear, didn’t think twice about the relatively new and thin trail of hair down the middle of my chest all the way down, and how my legs still held their old shape from so many years wearing heels. I didn’t feel like a fraud.  
Holy Order, I felt like the entire galaxy did fit between my hands and I was the most terrifying, ethereal man that ever lived.

He exhaled slow.  
“Well, shit, I s-s-still have damn good taste.”  
I had to laugh at that.  
“You’re not…disappointed?”  
“Oh, no. No no no. R-r-rremember our toast?”  
To be honest, I wasn’t exactly listening back there, so I kept quiet.  
He stepped to me and slipped his arm around me, supporting my back and tipping me just far enough back that I could feel that weird pull again.  
“N-no judgement, not here.”  
The one arm supported me as the other trailed down the bump of scar tissue in the middle of my chest down to the waist of my underwear and hooked just inside. I was still afraid to fall, but those fingers were a good enough distraction that I could let go—not surrender, that was a very different thing than this. I hadn’t noticed that the hand wasn’t important. While I’d been caught up in the sensory overload of gravity being very real and a real human man being unafraid to touch me, he’d been leaning closer to my face and clearly he was either way more sober or just plain better at it than I was. His kiss wasn’t a reckless mess—the whole night, I’d had it all backwards.

I’m not proper and I don’t come from someplace that is. I’ve been kissed before. More than I’d be willing to admit in polite company, anyway, but something struck my addled brain this time. We’d both been pretty smashed at the beginning of the night, though I’d had a fair head start before he’d taken the seat next to me. But from the time we’d gotten out here, save that brief moment when he was staring off into space at my lipstick stain, he wasn’t the least bit distracted. I’d been with men who you could kind of tell were somewhere else, wondering if they’d paid up the meter at the starport, considering whether they’d be seen kissing what they were pretty sure was another man and what would people think, whether or not the thing was going to pass in the Senate or not. But not this scuzzy weirdo. No, he was here and all tongue and teeth, not giving a fuck what kind of damage he’d leave when he finally let up. He knew exactly what he was doing, coordinating mouth and fingers and frazzling every nerve I had that wasn’t already on fire from over-stimulation. I had to breathe so I turned, but that didn’t slow him down. He moved to my neck and shoulder, and I really felt like I was going to pass out and go right over the rail and that would just be that.

I lost my balance and turned on my ankle in these stupid-ass tall shoes and he caught me. When I looked up at him, it wasn’t a question anymore of where he fell between forty and sixty, there was something positively mischievous and naughty and just…young there. He looked awake and alive, very different from the man I’d initially brought up to my room.  
“C-ccc-come on, I’m not feeding the void tonight. Let’s t-t-take this back inside.”  
Considering the things we’d done, it was weird how intimate it felt when he closed his hand over mine and pulled me back inside, not caring to close the doors or pick up anything. When he went ahead of me, I got to see the back piece I was so curious about. It was something vaguely tribal, a solid black swirl of something with diamond-shaped blank spaces up his spine, and something across his shoulder that looked like lightning. It was striking and bold and not like anything I’d ever seen on a man before. I wanted so bad to ask, but he’d said—there were things he was escaping from too. Just like my tattoos hid what I saw as my ugly parts, I wondered if what his weren’t a memorial to his own ugly parts.  
I flopped on the bed and moved to take off the heels that were probably going to be the death of me, but he pushed my hand away.  
“You’re s-s-safe here, leave ‘em on.”  
I complied and spread my legs, giving him plenty of room to kneel. He popped his trouser button open and sighed and holy hell, for the first time I actually looked and that had to be uncomfortable. I didn’t have time to do anything about it—he was on top of me and shoving his knee between my legs creating friction that made me arch my back high off the squishy mattress. I pulled him to me by the hair and tried this time, not wanting to be a clumsy idiot smearing makeup everywhere. Being rough was fun, sure, but I wanted him to feel wanted like I did. (I caught myself before I thought “loved”, that was way out of line, that was not what this was, and my dopey mind better get that straight right the fuck away.)

I kissed him hard at first, but it just didn’t feel right. It felt like I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to across his back, and something much more raw than skin was exposed. So I let it burn down, surprised that he might be letting go too, dragging my nails across the black lightning on his upper arm, soft moans escaping when we parted. My brain was getting fried again, but I did have to wonder when the last time someone touched him like this. I wrapped my legs around him, careful to not dig in the heels but failing—stilettos weren’t exactly made for this. He hissed between clenched teeth. If I didn’t know any better, he fucking liked it. Hours could have passed like that, his pants and my soaked underwear still between us. I didn’t know, but I was done with barriers. I pushed him up and awkwardly bent myself to reach the zipper and tore it down, and thank the stars, there wasn’t anything else under there. He didn’t even try to be smooth, yanking his trousers off and tossing them away. I still hadn’t thought this far out but I’d entirely abandoned my dreams of being this sultry perfect sex god with good coordination. Dysphoria punched me in the gut as I tried to peel my own remaining clothes off, but I still wasn’t at myself enough to let it ruin the moment as it often had before. If I didn’t look, I didn’t have to know it wasn’t the right equipment. He paused, back over me, both of us naked and not just without clothes. He looked away first, at the nightstand.  
My slow wit caught up with me all at once.  
“D-dd-do you have…?”  
I did, but I really didn’t want to bother with it. I knew exactly how stupid it was but goddamn it, I was so done with barriers.  
“Effectively sterile, hormones, don’t care.”  
“You’re sure?”  
I nodded.  
“You’re ent-t-tt-tirely sure?”  
“Look,” I said, holding his chin and making him look. “If you want enthusiastic consent, here it fucking is, I’m a grown man, let me make stupid mistakes.”  
He shrugged and traced a line from my neck all the way down again, not stopping this time.

Him on top didn’t fit right. Nobody ever did. It kind of felt like a manufacturer’s flaw in my design to me, but it didn’t stop him.  
“On your knees,” he settled back, giving me room to maneuver. I had to admit, there was something particularly filthy about this entire position, something about being completely passive and just being able to receive without any regard to stupid faces or worrying about how I looked from the front. I arched my back and spread as wide as I could under the circumstances and he wasted no time sliding in all the way at once. I’d have killed him for it if I wasn’t so wet that it was flawless. Arranged like this, I felt everything more—gods and moons, he was thick in all the right places and knew what to do with his hands. Instead of just holding onto me like I was an object to brace with, he grabbed my ass with both hands and spread it and everything was so much tighter and intense and I didn’t even care about the raw, ugly sounds coming out of my throat every time he was fully in and hitting all the right grooves. I don’t know what he was thinking, but it was too slow, too languid, I was afraid he’d lost interest or the moment lost all urgency. I couldn’t exactly voice this in anything other than impatient whining.  
“Hush,” he swatted my ass. “Enjoy. T-t-this is what you came for.”  
He replaced his hands and I tried to arch back to meet his hips, but when I stopped trying to force the delicious feel of him hitting my front wall at the right angle, holy shit he was right.  
We had all the time in the world.

It felt like we’d kept this pace for hours but it didn’t matter, it all built so slow and close to painful and I was so close and I knew it and I was afraid if the least little thing changed, angle, timing, me actually exhaling, I’d lose it entirely. That had happened before, but this was not that. The entire upper half of my body was limp, curled into the bed cheek-down and almost drooling on the brocade bedspread and this unholy keening came out of me and it kept getting higher and louder and I swear it was resonant in the whole room until it just abruptly cut off because I couldn’t breathe.  
But he still didn’t stop, didn’t change pace, and the feel was entirely too much. I could feel it in my teeth. One of my nails snapped right off, I had the fabric balled up in my fist so hard, but I really, truly did not care.

It was over for me but still too good—he held on a bit longer, gasped, hips faltered, and for about two seconds I felt profoundly stupid for letting him do this but the thick warmth leaking out of me and running down my thighs banished that shit right from my mind.

I collapsed on my stomach, unceremoniously forcing him out, and there was no way I was sleeping with this wet mess on top of my bed tonight. Traitorous jelly-limbs wouldn’t let me move, but I was content to bask in the filth and mess for a while for once. I opened one eye and he was on his back, various bits and pieces snapping and popping like it had been a minute since those parts were used so well. He was trying to catch his breath.  
“What even was that?” I felt like I had to say something, but well-formed thoughts were beyond me.  
“Hopefully,” he continued fighting with his lungs. “A gg-gg-good time.”  
Everything was so warm and good, I had to laugh.  
“Yeah, you could say that.”  
“Me? No.”  
I was legitimately afraid I was somehow terrible.  
“I’d s-s-say that was the most stellar fuck I’ve had in years.”  
That one got us both. His laugh was deep and rich and this felt real—not the sardonic half-snorts he’d managed the rest of the night. My mind was going dangerous places but I couldn’t be bothered to reign it in this time. With monumental effort, I turned and shoved down the absurd amount of sheets to get to the actual bottom sheet. I had no idea what sorcery kept them cool after all that we’d done on there, but I was thankful for it. He stretched again and sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved to get up.  
No. No no no no no. Surely he wasn’t just going to fuck off after all that?  
He stood and crossed the room and leaned over in the tub and oh my god I felt stupid. I’d ran the damn bath and let it get cold. The water lurched and sucked down the drain, he came back over and wiped the water on the ruined bedspread and joined me. I wasn’t really sure how this was supposed to go—I mean, I didn’t want him to just leave, but wasn’t that how these things went?

He extended his arm and wedged it under my head. There was a nice place to curl up against his blacked-out side. With my ear against his chest, I could tell his heart didn’t beat right. I wasn’t sure if it was age or illness, but it didn’t matter, it was still there and warm and better than sleeping alone.  
That’s what I told myself, anyhow.  
I was not about to think what I really thought.

 

The next morning, I woke up alone and sore. I sat up and took in the room, shocked to find my gown laid over the back of a chair and my shoes on the floor under it. My heavy earrings were on the nightstand and I hadn’t been robbed. There was something in the chair, I went over to see what it was.  
Hastily scribbled on the notepad from the desk:

 

Hope your stay gets better. Had a great time. All your shit’s still there. Take it easy, don’t get caught up in this place’s bullshit.  
Formality is not luxury—hope you had as good a time as I did.

Stay grey, handsome.

DJ

 

I tucked the note into my wallet and went back to bed. I guess sometimes you don’t get what you want, but you just might get what you need.


End file.
